


i. zevran

by memai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6311326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memai/pseuds/memai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tamlen's surprise at the camp, Mahariel does everything he can do distance himself from it. In the quiet of the night, Zevran offers some comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i. zevran

Night fell, quieting the forest all around the camp. The others had slunk into their tents, resting for what was sure to be another long day ahead. Mahariel took the night watch, “I know the forests,” he reasoned, “and I was trained to see in the dark.” An excuse for him to spend a few hours to himself, a luxury he’s been granting himself the more they pressed on. So much has changed since Tamlen and Duncan and all the others.

The crackling of the fire was his only company for a while, and he was lost in the gentle shapes forming in the flames. Like spirits, he remembered Hahren Paivel say once when he was young. He would sit with Tamlen and they’d listen to the stories, gasping and chattering when the Hahren spoke of a grand battle or a clever hero. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

A shuffling from behind him stirred him out of his thoughts and Mahariel reached for the dagger on his hip. “Well, it is very nice to see you too,” Zevran chuckled, voice rasping with sleep, “I take it there are no darkspawn lurking here?”

Mahariel sighed and curled into his knees, eyes still on the fire, “No, it is quiet,” his voice was firm and steady when he spoke. Mahariel rarely ventured far from his stifled way of speaking, and even in the presence of Zevran, he felt it very difficult to tear down his walls.

Zevran however, saw this as a challenge, “You know, I can take over for a while. You must be tired,” he sat beside the Dalish Warden, “I can give you an Antivan massage,” there were traces of a laugh in his speech, “And we will see where the night takes us after.”

Normally, Mahariel would give in, let his guard down, be playful, but he was determined to shoulder the weight of the world, “I told Quinna I would take the night watch,” and after a pause, he added, “Thank you.”

Zevran wasn’t impressed, and put an arm around Mahariel, holding him close. In the privacy that the camp allowed, it was all Zevran could do and press his lips against his lover’s temple, “You miss your friend.” 

Mahariel resisted the tears biting at his eyes, throat closing up with emotion. He saw Tamlen again, changed and diseased, sick and dying. Begging to be killed, to be released. Mahariel’s lip twitched and that was all the emotion he was willing to show, “He’s dead now.” It was hard for him to say it.

“You are allowed to be upset.” That incident certainly gave the entire camp a scare, and admittedly, Zevran didn’t know what to do when he saw Mahariel weeping and wailing at the corpse they left. No one had seen Mahariel like that. Zevran wasn’t sure if anyone wanted to see him that way; they were convinced he was made of stone, quiet and bitter and determined to stay that way. Little wonder he got along with Sten. That night reminded Zevran how much he must’ve been hurting deep down.

“I did not have a choice,” Mahariel finally said, “I do not think I have ever told anyone,” he admitted, “But I did not leave my clan on my own.”

Zevran wanted to say that really, no one in their little group had much of a choice, but he kept his tongue still. Mahariel rarely spoke of himself, rarely spoke of his family. He was especially quiet when they went into that Dalish camp. Perhaps he would finally learn something about Mahariel.

“I begged Duncan to leave me. That if I had to die I wanted to die among my family,” Mahariel said, voice even, staring still into the fire, “He dragged me to Ostagar. I was sobbing the whole way like a child. Every time Alistair spoke of him I just wanted to spit. I was so angry. He had no right.”

Zevran held Mahariel closer, “You are here now. In handsome company, no less.” He didn’t want Mahariel to be upset, anyone but him. 

“I am,” at last, a smile, “But it does not change that I dislike my new duties.”

“We can dislike them together,” another kiss, “Believe me when I say I did not expect to come to this either.”

A soft chuckle, rare and lovely, “Alright, but you are staying up with me,” he looked to Zevran now, “And maybe you can tell me more about those leather boots, mm?”


End file.
